This story isn't to scare you, rather it is what I used to do with all of my free time when I lived in Botswana…camp in the Bush. Now, on our adventures, we'll be with professional guides who spend their lives in the Bush. Nevertheless, the beauty of these moments are always remembered, so I wrote a story about it. I hope it inspires you to see more of this world, too!

The locals started drumming outside their thatched huts on the other side of the river as soon as the night got black and the full moon rose over the Delta. Yellow eyes flashed outside the light of our campfire - hyenas drawn by the smell of the ribs we had sizzling on the grill for dinner. I threw some stones at them when they got too close, and then gave up knowing they wouldn’t come until after we’d gone to bed. I have to admit they made me nervous, but after several months of living in northern Botswana, I was finally starting to understand some of the animal’s habits, and feel a little more comfortable. 

We had decided to spend New Year’s Eve in the Okavango, the largest inland delta in the world and less than two hour’s drive northwest of Maun, a small town overrun with wild donkeys, where Richard and I lived and worked in a little hospital and clinic. It was the rainy season and not many people ventured on the muddy roads in Moremi Game Reserve to see the few animals who hadn’t left the 6,000 sq. mile park, for the season. But, we needed to get away and decided to go anyway.  

It seemed he was beckoning us to follow, so we did, watching as he leaped up a tree in pursuit of a squirrel. The squirrel escaped in a hole, and our leopard sauntered over to a fallen tree about five feet off the ground next to our car, and laid down on it as if that’s what he had intended to do all along.

We turned off the motor and sat right next to him. Every so often he’d look us straight in the eye, and then casually look away, his head on his paws like a little kitten. I could see each individual dark rosette on his golden fur and watched his long white- tipped tail flicking lazily along the log. We were just part of the scenery to him, and he was completely unafraid. After 20 minutes, Richard turned to me and said, “let’s leave him in peace”, and we drove back to camp. I felt our experience with the leopard, so stealthy and rarely seen, was an omen of things to come that night. 

For hours we drove along the rough tracks, trying in vain to find anything, but all we saw were the ubiquitous herds of impala. Finally, giving up, we turned the vehicle around and headed back to camp, thinking it was a failed trip. Just then, a full-grown leopard bounded in front of our vehicle, stopped on the other side of the road, and gazed at up at us with huge emerald eyes, then ran behind a mopane bush! 

We camped on the Khwai riverbank and watched a herd of red lechwe - antelope adapted to living in the water - bounding through the swamp, while we set up our tiny canvas tent for the night. There was no one else anywhere around. 

A troop of baboons strolled into camp. While getting things out to prepare dinner, I left the back of the Land Cruiser open and a huge male snuck inside and quickly ripped our box of granola open, scattering it everywhere when I yelled at him to get out. We used some slingshots the local people had given us to keep monkeys away, but they started dropping amarula nuts on our heads from their perch above us in the trees. Finally, they moved into the high treetops to sleep, and left us alone. They had the night creatures to fear, and it was time to hide. 

After dinner, when the night is as black as ink, there is not much to do camping in the bush. We sipped our wine and watched the fire die down. Since I was nervous about the hyenas, Richard said we should urinate around our tent to “mark” our territory, and dissuade them from coming too close. He’d lived in Africa much longer than I, and knew a lot of tricks. So, every time I had to pee, I’d crouch next to a corner of the tent, look out into the darkness, and hope I looked as threatening to the animals as they looked to me. Finally, we crawled into our sleeping bags to let the tinkling sounds of the Bell Frogs lure us to sleep. About a mile away, we could hear a male lion’s hasping roar, and then a response from the opposite direction. I heard a scraping noise outside, and in the light of the moon I watched a female hyena 30 feet away, climb onto our picnic table

She must have weighed almost 200 lbs., the huge muscular top of her body shaped like a bear and the bottom half more dog-like. She looked like a Great Dane on steroids slinking over to our fire pit, where joined by a friend, they licked the grate clean. For some reason, I wasn’t afraid, knowing that they weren’t interested in me. 

Eventually, dozing off, I kept hearing something, and woke up. Immediately above me in a tree sat a Pel’s Fishing Owl. Over two feet tall, she hunts fish, and even young crocodiles at night. From her resting place, she looked back at me all night long, and every so often I would hear her say “b-b-b-b-bhooo” as she stretched out her three foot wings and flew off in search of food, later to return and chatter to me.

In the middle of the night, I just couldn’t stand it any more and had to get up to pee. I was afraid now of what else might be outside the false safety of our thin canvas walls, and woke Richard from a sound sleep. He calmly said not to worry, just shine the “torch” out first to make sure it was okay, and stay close to the tent. That’s what I did, a death-grip on my flashlight, looking frantically around. It certainly was dark out. In fact, even with the full moon I couldn’t see a thing. I’d had a couple glasses of wine after dinner to calm my nerves, but it did seem kind of curious that even when I looked towards the river all I saw was deep, dark blackness, where I knew there were bushes and reeds. Very suddenly, it moved!! I had surprised a massive hippopotamus who had been quietly feeding next to the river – like a Mac truck covered in naugahyde, or a huge fat lady in a rubber suit, she had been tiptoeing through our campsite until I scared her. She launched herself into the river to hide from me, snorting loudly and saying “heh-heh-heh-heh-heh”. 

It was a wild, wild night, and only I had experienced it. Richard continued snoring away, without a care in the world. But, now I know the secrets the night conceals and what it’s like to be a part of it all, and I often remember that magical night, now that I live in the city.

~ Deborah Stephens